


Hospital Bed Crawl

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was written for a good friend over on tumblr by the username of starbag; credit for this AU goes to her.</p></blockquote>





	Hospital Bed Crawl

It’s all clicking, whirring machinery and white-white walls, so bright they’re almost pulsating. The room seems to be getting smaller with each passing day, and Gilbert is becoming too restless for such confines.

He shifts against stiff white sheets, wincing as the bandages wrapped so carefully around his midsection tighten at the movement. A frown creases his lips as he tugs at the bindings, hating, hating,  _hating_  the restriction.

All his life he’d known more freedom than limit; the freedom to roam, the freedom to fight- and the freedom to  _move._ It was the last that he regretted losing so bitterly; he was not a man who enjoyed being still. He was always on the move; dashing across the street and laughing at the oncoming traffic, taking the stairs two at a time, even just tapping his fingers. And now he was confined to this bed, this room.

Sighing in begrudging resignation, he settles back against the multitude of pillows that are currently overwhelming the first half of his bed. Really, it was ridiculous how many he’d taken from the hospital’s reserves; it was even more so that the nurses continued to comply with his demands.  _I’m just too awesome and charming for them to resist,_  Gilbert thinks with a smug smile.

_Tick,_ _tick, tick._

The soft chords of a guitar and a faint, cheerful voice drift through his open door, the music swelling and fading at intervals. The albino sits up and leans toward the door, straining to catch the quiet notes and soft words. Not that he’d admit it, but the music that came from the room down the hall at three o’clock every day was the only thing he looked forward to here.

That was the routine; it had been so ever since he had been  ~~locked up~~  committed for treatment.

And so the movement of the door was unexpected; as was the appearance of a meekly smiling young man. A guitar is slung over his back, and it slowly dawned on Gilbert that  _the music was coming to him._

The prospect thrills him, but his expression remains neutral, and there is a slight wariness in his eyes- a caution the streets had instilled in him, and one he could not shake.

The newcomer offers him a smile and perches in a chair at the foot of Gilbert’s bed, seating the unwieldy instrument firmly in his own lap. His voice, when it comes, is soft, wavering.

“Hello…Gilbert, is it?” He shifts, grasping the neck of the guitar. “My name’s Matthew. I’m here to sing to you.”

Silence.

A willful glare on Gilbert’s end. Mistrust thickens the air, and the smile on Matthew’s lips fades around the edges. He clears his throat and bites his lip, tries again with a faltering voice; “Any requests?”

The same stony, cold quiet.

Matthew busies himself with tuning his instrument, murmuring a soft, “I suppose I’ll surprise you then, eh?”

He pauses, then smiles broadly, beginning to gently strum. He carries a tune under his breath, a soft, buzzing hum, and Gilbert sits up a bit straighter.

“ _Picture yourself in a boat on a river,_

_With tangerine trees and marmalade skies._

_Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly-_

_A girl with kaleidoscope eyes..”_

Gilbert can dimly recollect hearing the very same lyrics years ago, and a wave of inexplicable nostalgia washes over him as Matthew goes on, with a voice smooth as honey and quick, nimble fingers. The albino tries to look as if the whole affair is a bore, but he can’t help but be enraptured by the boy’s soft, lilting voice.

It’s a careless spell he casts, and one that leaves Gilbert with an aching in his chest when just as slowly it had come, Matthew’s voice fades, lingering on the final note with a slight wistfulness.

His lips slowly close, and the slight smile that had graced them fades as his eyes reopen to observe Gilbert’s unmoved expression. There’s a fluttering in his chest he’s desperate not to allow his face to reflect, and a hard stare is Matthew’s only reward.

Still, he smiles a tight-lipped smile, slowly standing and shouldering his guitar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Only after he leaves does the disappointment show on his face. The whole point- his only  _goal_  in doing this was to make the patients a little happier here- to ease their pain and boredom and fright. Never had he encountered a less impressed and enthusiastic one! A passing nurse offers him a sympathetic glance and a gruff, “You came from Beilschmidt, eh? Don’t take it personally. He won’t react much to anything.”

“Really?” A curious glance is thrown towards the slightly ajar door of room 137.

“Yeah, won’t say a word unless he needs something, and even then he’s loath to speak.”

“I see.” Matthew’s frown fades slowly as he mulls this over, then cants his head to the side and asks, “What is he in for, again?”

“Stab wound to the stomach. Been here for a week, and getting tired of it, it seems.” The nurse shrugs and, responding to a sudden call over the intercom, bustles off. Matthew readjusts the strap holding his guitar in place and furrows his brow.

He was never one to turn down a challenge.

 ———

A new routine.

Every day, at three o’ clock on the dot, Matthew would come waltzing in, guitar slung securely over his shoulder. And every day, he’d take the same seat- and play.

And oh, he played; love songs, musical numbers- Gilbert had a new appreciation for  _Rent-_ and always, always, at the end of the set, the song he’d sang during their first session. This he treated with tenderness and caution, with nimble fingers plucking strings and the same soft, wavering voice that had won Gilbert over on the very first note.

He never wanted it to end.

Still, he refused to acknowledge Matthew’s efforts with anything but a careful stare and a tightening of the lips, giving no clue to the butterfly-wingbeat of his heart.

Disheartened but determined, he plays on. He isn’t sure why he needs a reaction from the albino so desperately- and he isn’t sure that he wants to delve into those thoughts.

He begins to stay for hours after the music fades, filling the air between them with pleasant, if inane, chatter. He speaks of the weather outside, the crispness of the air, the sound of leaves in the wind.

He would have driven Gilbert mad if he wasn’t so sincere.

The albino wouldn’t admit it, but he looked forward to every visit, enjoyed every note and every joke that rolled off the blonde’s tongue. Enjoyed the company, simply.

He thought it could last forever.

————

 

_Tick, tick, tick._

Gilbert squirms against his mound of pillows and leans forward, ignoring the slight, sharp sting that movement elicited. That couldn’t be right. Matthew had never  _once_  been late. Yet it was plain on the clock’s face; a quarter after three, and no sign of the blonde.

Seconds tick by as the albino impatiently writhes, hope dwindling with each soft click of the clock’s hands.

Hurried footsteps, and the blonde’s arrival. Gilbert’s excitement fades as he realizes that Matthew looks harried- and he is not smiling. That was unsettling; he’d never known Matthew to be without a smile or a wisecrack. Slowly, the blonde man walks to his chair, where he plops down heavily, cradling his guitar in his lap as if it were a fragile infant.

“This is going to be my last session with you.”

Gilbert’s eyes grow round with shock, and for once a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth, his expression communicating what his voice could not;  _why?_

_“Matthew, we have to follow them. That kid, Lovino…I really don’t wanna let him go.”_

“I’m leaving town.” A weak smile, a sour note from scraping fingers. “Let’s make the most of this, eh?”

His heart isn’t in it today.

His voice falters, his fingers drag, and every word falls flat.

And Gilbert loves it just the same.

In exactly two hours another, more energetic blonde man enters, offering Gilbert an upbeat smile and nodding to Matthew. “Ready to go, bro?” Gilbert panics- it couldn’t be over, it just couldn’t. He hadn’t even gone through the song- _their_ song. And yet there he goes, defeated and dragging and this isn’t right this isn’t  _fair-_

It bursts from his throat, in a voice raw and burning, notes that scrape and grate.

_“P-picture yourself in a boat on a river,_

_With tangerine trees and marmalade skies…”_

Matthew pauses, turns to the albino with an expression of mingled shock and curiosity. Cat-quick he retrieves his instrument, and with frantic fingers scraping along taut strings he rasps out the melody. He is desperate to hold onto this moment, the instant he had strived for days to achieve.

His voice joins Gilbert’s, blends with it, creates a perfect harmony, pitch be damned. Bit by painful, perfect bit they sing and strum and bond.

Their voices mingle and linger on the final note, wistful and fearful.

Turtle-shy and so very soft, his plea.

_“Don’t go.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a good friend over on tumblr by the username of starbag; credit for this AU goes to her.


End file.
